


Knee Deep

by delighted



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Comfort, Dancing, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-24
Updated: 2019-04-24
Packaged: 2020-01-24 14:19:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18573229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/delighted/pseuds/delighted
Summary: Once he gets into it, the dancing becomes sort of intuitive, kind of like surfing... or sex. Not that he’s thinking about having sex with Steve. He’s just dancing with him, barefoot, in blue jeans, in the living room on a sunny Sunday afternoon, and that doesn’t sound like a country song right there. Nope.Or, Steve and Danny have to learn to dance. And that goes just about how you might expect.





	Knee Deep

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ymas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ymas/gifts).



> So.... I’ve been oddly silent for all of April. And partly that’s been “real life” and partly it’s because I’ve been writing not-Five-0. But this little story snuck up on me and I just couldn’t resist....
> 
> For Ymas... because, well. You know why. Probably saw this coming from well over a mile away... down dusty desert roads and across soft sandy beaches, set to a bright country tune, fueled by middle of the night emails and endless “of course I should have known”s and a multitude of chapters of cuddles and “more” and drafts and edits and definitely vodka and coffeecake and everything else and so much more and yep I’m crying now because of course I am. <3
> 
> Title from the song of the same name by the Zac Brown Band. Which I highly recommend listening to! (It’s got Jimmy Buffett in it.)

It’s a regular old Saturday afternoon, when it all begins to unravel, this carefully woven facade Danny’s maintained for the past nine years, that he and Steve are just friends. He doesn’t see it coming, couldn’t have seen it coming, wouldn’t have seen it coming. But come it does, the beginning of his downfall, fittingly—or perhaps ironically—in the form of his own beloved daughter. If someone had warned him what was coming, he would have laughed. Because it’s more than a little improbable.

And yet, here they are, on this plain old Saturday, sitting on those chairs in the sand. The ones they started in, really, their friendship did. The ones they come back to again and again, over loss, over joys, over sorrows, heartbreaks, and regular old Saturdays like this one.

They’ve been surfing. They grabbed sandwiches, ate them probably a little too fast. And now it’s beers, bare feet in the sand, shirts not back on yet, that lazy afternoon,  _god we needed this after that week we had_. Probably it’ll be fish on the grill later or pizza if Steve’s feeling lazy. Maybe they’ll watch a movie or replay one of the many sporting events Steve’s got backlogged on his DVR, the idea they’ll watch them eventually preposterous, and yet still he persists.

Danny gets a text from Grace asking if he’s at Steve’s and if she can come by, she has something to ask them both.

Maybe he’s too sun baked, too sated, too well-fed, topped up with beer, because he doesn’t bristle, his hackles don’t go up, he just lazily replies  _Yep, out back_. And almost even forgets.

He’s half way asleep when she pulls up, and it’s the car door slamming that reminds him.

“Oh yeah, Grace said she needed to ask us something,” he says to Steve, who cracks one eye open, and grins when he sees her, waving as she walks across the lawn to them.

“Oh my god you guys are sooo Jimmy Buffett!”

“We’re so—how do you even know who—?”

“Hey kiddo!” Steve pulls her into a hug, and she doesn’t even complain, getting salty old man on her like that.

She turns to Danny, who hasn’t moved, thank you. This is his relaxing time, she can come to him for a hug, has he taught her nothing about respecting the old and decrepit?

“I like old music too, Danno. Actually that’s why I’m here. We just finally settled on our Grads and Greats theme, and we’re doing this retro thing with line dancing and two step, and we get to pick who we dance with, and if it’s okay, Danno I want you and Uncle Steve to be my dances.”

“Is it—of course it’s okay, Grace, that’s sweet.” (And yes, okay, he’s regretting his  _elders_  jab a little now.)

“Yeah, Gracie, I’d be honored.”

God, Steve’s practically glowing as he says it. The big goof.

“Great! So you guys both know how to two step, right?”

“Do we know how—” says Steve, all bristle and bustle. “Of course we do, don’t we, Danno.” And he smacks Danny on the arm, like he’s supposed to agree with this nonsense?

“We do?” He asks, dumbly, instead, and Steve hits him again. Jerk, that hurts.

“Don’t worry about it, Gracie, I got it all under control.” Of course he does, because  _Steve_  and  _control_  go hand in fucking hand like  _pastrami on rye_  or  _wine and roses_  and no, he has no idea where that second one came from, just shut up.

“That’s perfect, I’m so excited. Thank you!” She pulls out her phone, types frantically at it, then looks up at them both, eyes big, smile maybe a little something less innocently pleased than the situation warrants, and yes, that probably should be a warning, but his phone beeps and he’s got a message from her, and... it’s music. And videos?

“I’ve sent you some songs to practice to, and the instructions for the one group line dance we’re all doing together. Can you learn it by the fifth? You guys can help each other out, right? Do I need to check up on you?”

Steve wraps his arm around her. “Not a problem at all, Gracie, leave it to Uncle Steve. All will be taken care of.”

“Thank you,” she whispers, and kisses him on the cheek. “Okay, I gotta go help with the decorations committee. I don’t suppose you know anyone who owns a horse?”

“Ummm....”

“I’m kidding, Danno, relax.” And she does bend over to hug and kiss him, of course, because they’ve raised her right, him and Steve. They really have.

Well. Except for this whole country dancing thing. He’s not at all sure where that’s coming from, though it shouldn’t surprise him that the big Neanderthal seems to know it?

As soon as Grace has gone, he turns to Steve. The obvious question evidently one he’s going to have to actually ask.

“We know how to two step?”

“How hard can it be?”

“How hard.... Great.”

Steve grins. Delighted as usual to be causing pain and strife in the life of Detective Danny Williams. “Hey, so what’s Grads and Greats, anyway?”

Danny sighs, mostly because being reminded that his daughter is graduating isn’t something he enjoys. Partly because he’s not really looking forward to it, the whole being shown off, being made a deal of. It’s uncomfortable for him, it’s just not his vibe. He’s more than happy to sit in the back, clap politely when she gets her diploma, then go home and drown his sorrows in cold leftover take out and beer. He doesn’t want to share that with all the other parents and their endless iPhones and Instagram. (Yes he knows what Instagram is, he’s not an idiot.)

“It’s this thing the seniors do every year for their parents and grandparents and whomever else, it’s basically like a father daughter dance only they don’t call them that anymore, we’re more evolved than that, basically it’s so the kids who are graduating can thank the people who’ve been special to them, you know before they run off to college and break our hearts and forget we even exist except when the phone bill needs paying.”

“God Danny, have another beer.”

Steve presses play on one of the songs Grace has sent, and it does in fact, have Jimmy Buffett singing in it, so Danny thinks maybe this country music thing won’t be  _so_  awful maybe. 

Besides, it’s for Grace, so he’s gonna do his best.

“This is gonna be great, buddy!” Steve says, getting into the song. “Really, really great.”

  
Sunday morning, on a weekend without the kids. It’s Danny’s sleeping in time. His sacred time. His just-for-me time.

He sleeps until he can’t any more, then he gets up, makes coffee, and gets back in bed, drinks his coffee, catches up on his favorite late night segments from the week, drinks more coffee, then thinks about how he probably should do some chores, makes more coffee, has some cereal, puts in a load of laundry, and stares into his empty fridge, thinking about how he hates grocery shopping on Sundays. He then painstakingly determines if he has enough food to get him through the day, the answer of which is usually  _not really but oh well_ , and pours himself another cup of coffee and sits down to read while the laundry finishes.

He has a well established routine, in other words.

One with which Steve, after nine years of rudely interrupting said routine, is intimately familiar.

So of course, when Danny’s phone rings midway into the staring into the fridge bit, Steve doesn’t even hesitate.

“Close the fridge and get over here. I’ll feed you, we gotta start working on these dances.”

“Come again?”

“I said I’ll feed you, but you gotta get over here. This stuff’s harder than it looks.”

Danny closes the fridge. “You want me to interrupt my sacred Sunday rituals to come dance with you.”

“There’s nothing sacred about what you do on a Sunday, Daniel. And this is for Grace.”

“You have a point,” Danny concedes on a sigh.

“Of course I have a point now hurry up and get over here.”

“I’ve got laundry—”

“The laundry can wait!”

“Okay okay, geez relax, Mr. How Hard Can It Be. I’ll be right over.”

  
Unfortunately, Steve’s right. It is harder than it looks. Although that’s a bit of an odd statement because it doesn’t exactly look easy to Danny. Anything involving  _twirling to the right_  and  _shuffling to the left_  looks downright impossible to Danny.

Still, he has to admit. It’s not all bad.

Steve has chosen to—evidently to get himself in the mood? Has chosen to wear jeans and a plaid shirt. He’s paired it with his usual boots, however, and Danny suspects that’s where he’s gone wrong.

“Babe. I’m pretty sure when the guys do it they’re wearing cowboy boots. Not those terrifying things.”

Steve looks at Danny, who is dressed, thank you, in his usual Sunday best—board shorts, faded concert tee, and flip flops which he kicked off as soon as he was in the door.

“Take your boots off. If you step on my feet in those things I’ll shoot you.”

Steve rolls his eyes, but he does as Danny says without comment, and that... huh. That’s kinda weird.

“Okay, good, now show me what you’ve got so far.”

Steve has the line dance, the one they’re all supposed to do, queued up on the TV, and he presses play. Some twangy something blares offensively, and Danny cringes, but then Steve starts this rather hypnotic series of steps, moving almost as if by magic, first to the left, then to the right, and sue him, but Danny finds it oddly... attractive.

He gets to the place he messes up, and it’s endearing, really, how frustrated he gets. It reminds Danny of Charlie (for whom most things come easy) when confronted by something which challenges him. There’s a little bit of stomping, a scowl on his face, and tension in his body which clearly isn’t helping.

“Babe. Ease up, okay? You’ve got that first bit really great! Why don’t you start by teaching that to me, okay?” And yes, he’s taking the same approach he would with Charlie. Figures it works with his one child, it’ll work with this bigger one.

And he’s right. Oh, how beautifully he is right. Because Steve  _does_  have the first part down, and more than that, he somehow  _gets_  it, which Danny’s not even sure what that means? But he likes it. And he likes it too, okay, yes, he likes it when Steve puts his hands on Danny’s hips, helping him to find that little sway you need to get the toe/heel thing just so. He likes it too when Steve, brightened by conveying what he’s learned to Danny, grins and kid you not slaps his thigh and damn near says  _yeehaw_.

It’s only the first thirty seconds or so of the dance, but it’s gratifying. There’s something about nailing a new skill... not really an experience Danny’s had lately, and okay, there’s something really enjoyable about it. Huh. Anyhow... they work up a bit of an appetite, and Steve had promised to feed him, besides, Danny thinks getting a beer or two in Steve is gonna really do wonders for helping him to loosen up and let himself make mistakes in the next thirty seconds of the dance, and if that’s what it takes, thirty seconds at a time, well, it’s what they’ll do. Because Steve’s right, this is for Grace.

So he makes Steve pause, and he heads them into the kitchen, and Steve’s a little amped up still, so Danny makes the sandwiches, and don’t think it doesn’t occur to him that when Steve said “I’ll feed you” what he really meant was  _I have food come fix it for me_ , because that’s just perfectly Steve right there isn’t it, to tempt Danny with an offer of something nice and have it turn into Danny being of service. It’s somehow  _them_  in a nice little nutshell. Not that Danny really minds. And the fact that it’s basically like parenting a third child, well. There’s comfort there for Danny. Not that he needs to feel needed, but it’s nice. And just as he’s thought it, he sees this gleam in Steve’s eyes, and he wonders if Steve doesn’t maybe know exactly that. Which,  _huh_ , again.

After two sandwiches and three beers they head back for round two, and they make progress. Danny was right, about Steve loosening up (and yes he’s probably right about that in the larger scheme of things as well), and he’s sure he’s right about Steve doing better learning when he has to teach it to Danny as part of learning it. But what’s really interesting is that Danny starts to pick up on it as well. It’s like there’s this element to it that’s not completely unlike surfing, where if you let the music get inside you and you can find that pulse, the moves start to come more easily.

Like surfing, and a little bit like sex, too.

Um. Well, you know, just... talking about things that become instinctive if you let them. Not that he’s thinking about having sex with Steve. He’s just dancing with him, barefoot, in blue jeans, in the living room on a sunny Sunday afternoon, and that doesn’t sound like a country song right there. Nope.

The point, maybe, is that maybe they both kind of wind up enjoying it... you know, like just a little... in that new experiences expanding your perceptions and so on kind of way. Not like in a  _dancing is intimate and physically enjoyable and being close with you is really nice_  kind of way. Um. No?

Eventually they get tired. Less from the physical aspect, because let’s face it, they’re both really fit. It’s more the struggle of the new skill that drains something in them. And it’s draining in that good way where you feel satisfied, like you’ve done something worthwhile. And maybe it’s then that it occurs, somewhat softly and vaguely to Danny, that maybe dancing—or rather, learning new dancing—would be something they might make a regular thing? It’s just that it might be soothing or comforting or helpful in some way after those cases where things just suck so bad and everything hurts and it feels like there’s no point and why do they bother.

Not that it’s a common thing, but it does happen.

(But probably that’s just the beers talking. I mean, we are talking about dancing together, after all.)

After pizza and more beer, Steve suggests they at least look at the two step. Danny’s just soft enough to say,  _yeah, alright_ , and he almost regrets that, when Steve puts a track on that’s considerably mellower and it’s obvious to Danny right away that this is going to be a bit of a different experience.

“I don’t think I even know what the two step is, babe. Maybe we should just watch some first?”

“Yeah,” echoes Steve, and is it hot in here or does Steve sound a little... smoke and whiskey right now?

So they sit on the sofa and they watch some really quite impressive videos of some really talented kids (it makes Danny feel better that everyone in these videos looks so young) doing some really impressive moves. The core of it is fairly simple, yes. He thinks maybe they can manage it without seriously hurting each other... but there’s part of him that wants more.

More of the fancy moves, that is. Not more than romantically dancing with his partner. I mean, that would just be... weird. Right?

“Maybe we start by working on not stepping on each other’s feet,” Steve suggests, after an especially impressive bit with twirls and spins and dips and things that seem frankly improbable given the nature of, oh, physics and reality.

“Yeah, good idea,” Danny replies, shaking himself back to the present. You know, the one where he doesn’t know how to two step, and Steve isn’t going to literally sweep him off his feet.

Thing is, though... it almost starts to feel like he might. Maybe that’s the beers talking too, but the guy can seriously move. And they’re not even doing the proper steps, just messing around with the general concept of  _your arm goes here—no, more like here_... and,  _let me lead, yes you have to go backwards, okay fine I’ll go backwards, ouch_. And it’s surprisingly fun. And surprisingly not awkward. And that really must be the beer, because this should be at least a little bit strange, right? I mean, yes, they’ve been dancing for a few hours—although to be fair a lot of that was just standing around counting and swearing. But it should feel a little bit odd to be in Steve’s arms, stepping one-two back and one-two sort of to the side. 

The beers must start to wear off after a bit because it does start to seem a bit... warm. Or maybe he’s just tired. And Steve’s looking a little flushed as well. So they grab waters and head out for some fresh air, and of course they wind up in their chairs down at the sand.

“I can’t believe she’s graduating,” Steve says softly. And he sounds a little forlorn, which plucks at something in Danny’s heart, something slightly distant. Like it should remind him of something but it doesn’t quite.

And the obvious answer, the  _tell me about it she’s my kid,_ doesn’t come. Instead he says “She loves you too, babe,” and when he looks he sees the moisture in Steve’s eyes, and he reaches out his hand, not really thinking, and Steve takes it, and he holds on... just doesn’t let it go, and they sit there, under that blue Hawaiian moon, listening to the waves on the sand, drinking water, hearing the music still in their heads, and, yes, holding hands. And none of it, not one bit of it, feels weird.

  
The week gets off to a wild start, and Monday comes and goes and they don’t even mention dancing. Tuesday is a bit slower and they have a chance to start saying  _Maybe we should_... and then something blows up, literally, and that’s that for the next two days, so it’s not till Friday that they actually get to sit down and say  _No, really, we need to practice tonight_. And Tani almost overhears the conversation, and when they both probably turn a little bit pink as they pass on going out for beers with her and Jerry and Junior, she looks a little too closely at them, but then shrugs and lets it be.

They make a nice meal first. In their sometimes lazy Friday night way, when they’re both for whatever reason craving a quiet night in. Pasta usually, the better part of an entire bottle of red before they even sit to eat. Out on the deck upstairs, and maybe that’s symbolic somehow, needing to be “above” it... floating up, rising out of the grime, the darkness, the gloom that sometimes clings to them at the end of a long week. 

Steve’d strung twinkly lights up there for the holiday party and he left them, and maybe he’s just setting the mood, maybe they just need better light, but he turns them on before he sets his wireless speaker up to play their practice tracks.

“Let’s just work on our two step tonight,” he says, as he kicks off his boots and undoes the buttons on his shirt. “We can focus on that line dance tomorrow.”

“Sure, babe,” Danny sighs, slipping his feet from his shoes, wishing he had something more comfortable to put on.

“Wanna borrow a tee?” Steve asks softly as Danny must have been fussing with his sleeves. 

He smiles. “Yeah, that’d be nice, thanks.” And it’s not that he hopes Steve’ll give him a Navy tee, and it’s not that he knows it’ll smell of Steve, but his mood lifts, his energy lightens, and maybe Steve notices and maybe Danny just doesn’t care. The fact that Steve comes back without a shirt on himself, and with a tee for Danny and yes, it’s a Navy one, it’s even the one he was thinking of, and he doesn’t slip it on slowly so he can breathe it in, no because that would be weird. 

It would be even weirder if they settle into a mellow, almost-two-step, virtually slow dancing almost mindlessly—relaxing, just enjoying the music and the cooling evening air.  _That_  would be weird. But it wouldn’t be as weird as if Danny found himself humming along with the tune, wishing Steve would hold him just a little bit closer, and maybe... just maybe... kiss him.

Yep. That would definitely be a little bit strange. 

I mean... it would, wouldn’t it? 

What doesn’t feel weird at all is when Steve gradually speeds them up and gets them actually almost for real two stepping, a bit slowly, maybe a little stiffly, but pretty damn good all things considering.

“You’ve been practicing,” Danny realizes, when Steve twirls him to a pause to grab his water bottle. 

“Just a little, each night and each morning,” Steve admits, a little sheepishly. “I wanted to impress you.” 

That last is nearly under his breath, it’s delivered looking up from lowered lashes, as though he’s afraid of Danny’s reaction.

“Babe, I love it, thank you. Grace’ll be impressed.”

“Well, seeing as I did tell her we knew how....”

Danny laughs. “Well, alright then. I think we’re nearly good on that, just the line dance tomorrow... hopefully we can get it halfway decent in case next week is like this week was and we don’t get any time....”

And yeah, he’s making to leave—it’s getting late, he’s a little tired, and the twinkly lights and the wine and the dancing must all be going to his head because he’s having thoughts and feelings about his dance partner that are not thoughts and feelings he needs to be having about his  _work_  partner.

Interestingly, said work partner—or is it dance partner still?—is reluctant to release him. “ _Stay_....” It’s so soft Danny’s not sure he’s not making it up. 

“Mmm?” He asks, trying to look more closely in Steve’s eyes, as if that’ll help him hear better. 

“If you sleep over we can get an early start,” he explains.

“Sleep over? What, are we ten?”

“You know what I mean... just. Come on, we could open another bottle of wine, I could make some cookies—I’ve got that pre-made dough so it’s easy. We could watch a movie... go to bed, get some sleep, and start practicing early.”

And maybe it’s his overactive imagination, but there’s something about the way Steve says  _go to bed_  that sends chills down Danny’s spine. But then, he did follow it up with  _get some sleep_. Which, actually, he’s not really sure which that enforces... actual sleeping or the other thing.... 

Shit, he really needs to stop drinking. And get to safety. 

Either that or stay, get drunk, and see what happens....

He did say cookies....

“Yeah, okay, go on then.”

And really, Steve should  _not_  look this excited. But he does. 

Danny follows him down the stairs, intrigued and frankly a little smitten by Steve’s apparent eager-to-please streak here. He leans against the counter while Steve scoops heaps of the ready-made-dough onto a cookie sheet and puts them in the oven—which, huh, was already pre-heating, and how’d he miss that? Maybe he sprinted down when he went in for the tee? Danny feels a little dizzy with it. But then Steve presses a fresh glass of wine into his hand, and he toasts him “For Gracie,” and Danny thinks, yeah... that makes sense. Steve’s just gone all soft because Grace and Charlie and Joan are the closest thing he has to kids of his own so yes he’s protective of them, and Grace leaving is hard on him too. He’s probably just wanting to be closer to Danny because he’s doing that thing where he’s feeling overwhelmed by his emotions and doesn’t know how to cope so he clings to Danny, because it helps. 

(It helps Danny too, in case that wasn’t obvious.)

They take the cookies back upstairs, and with the sugar as fuel they do one more round of the two step, then fall gently against each other on the wicker love seat, and Steve pulls a movie up on his laptop, and they watch part of it before they start dozing lazily off, leaning against each other as they sometimes do when too much booze or too many feelings somehow get tangled up with them when they’re tired. And it’s nice, and Danny hates to disrupt it, but they’re not so young that falling asleep out here won’t be something they regret.

“We should get some sleep,” Danny says, and he starts to get up, but finds Steve’s hand has gone and tangled with his, holding him gently back. 

“Just... you should sleep upstairs. In a bed. Not on the sofa, okay?”

And Danny has the strangest feeling he means to say more,  _wants_  to say more, but he doesn’t, so Danny squeezes his hand and smiles. “Yeah, of course. I’ll go crash in Mary’s room.” And he heads inside before things can get any stranger than they’ve already been.

Probably all that... sugar, wine, feelings, confusion, dancing, whatever... probably all that  _should_  make sleeping hard, or at least filled with strange dreams. But it doesn’t. He sleeps amazingly well. Mary’s bed is nice and soft and that must be it, because it can’t be that he knows Steve’s across the hall. Because that would be... well. You know. Maybe sort of weird? Or, you know, maybe not really strange at all. 

  
What definitely is nice is waking up to the smell of coffee, bacon, and cinnamon—which let’s be honest, has to be the holy trinity of breakfast smells. 

Sneaking into Steve’s room to steal a pair of sweats, Danny pulls them on, and being totally clothed in Steve’s things sends this little thrill across his skin. Which is only because Steve uses too much fabric softener. You’d think someone who enjoys jumping out of airplanes would be a little more tolerant of clothing that was slightly less than perfectly soft, but you would be very wrong. Danny’s convinced it’s why Steve never irons. Because that interferes with the softness of the clothes. 

It’s not—that thrill across his skin—is not, in other words, because Danny likes the meaning behind wearing Steve’s clothes, feels some weird high school letterman jacket sort of mark of ownership thing or anything. 

Just so that’s clear.

It’s probably because of that softness, though, that when Danny sees what Steve’s made, sees the crumb cake on the counter, sees the plate being piled high with bacon, that he blurts out—without thinking—“God, babe, you trying to seduce me?”

And Steve chuckles softly, but oddly doesn’t deny it, and Danny must still be drunk or something because when he grabs a piece of bacon off the plate Steve’s still adding cooked slices to, he whispers “It’s working,” and slaps Steve lightly on the ass. 

Steve, interestingly, has nothing to say to that either. And soon Danny’s distracted by the crumb cake, and it’s always been a little frustrating to him, how well Steve’s always turns out. He’s never quite understood that, I mean, Danny follows his grandmother’s recipe exactly, but Steve’s always winds up more perfectly like it. 

He picks one of the sweet, cinnamony crumbles off the top, pops it in his mouth, savoring the soft crunch, the slightly spicy hit. “God, how do you get that so perfect?”

Steve turns to him with a huge grin on his face. “It’s all in the butter, Danno. All in the butter.”

“Butter and bacon, I take it back. You’re not trying to seduce me, you’re trying to kill me,” and he pops another crumb into his mouth, grinning in return.

They eat out on the lanai, each downing two big mugs of coffee before Steve puts another pot on, and then they face each other, realizing at the same time they’re stalling.

“Nothing for it but to try, right?”

So they do. And maybe it’s the butter or the bacon but they make some decent progress. Danny thinks mostly they’ve got the hang of the individual moves, it’s now a question of turns and changes of direction, and, you know, putting the whole thing together, not to mention remembering all of it. 

Over salads and grilled fish for lunch (making up for breakfast), Danny sighs. “Maybe if we just stay together and off to the side, it’ll be okay.”

Steve looks at him, hazel eyes flashing in the bright midday sun. Uh-oh. Danny knows that look. Knows it far too well. Steve’s competitive side has been engaged. He’s aiming for perfection. Danny can just see it now—Steve and Grace front and center, jeans, boots, western shirt, hat... and okay, it makes him go a little softly sentimental. But it also gives him an idea. 

It’s like gearing him up for a mission, Danny decides. Steve needs to dress the part, and he’ll slip into Op Mode. It’ll only help. And okay, maybe Danny has some ulterior motives. Like getting Steve back in those jeans....

So he takes him by the hand and he leads him up to his room, sits him down on the bed, and steps into the closet.

He finds the jeans, tosses those at Steve, and looks for a shirt. There’s one he has in mind... a sort of rust colored plaid that really sets off the green in his eyes...  _uh, I mean_ , that gives off a nice “country” vibe. He finds that and hands it to Steve.

“What’s this about, Danny?” Steve asks. His tone is partly puzzled, partly amused, and something else a little bit heavier sitting underneath, lurking just below the surface like maybe it’s afraid to show itself and find it was mistaken. Or maybe that’s just Danny reading things he wants to be there.

“You need to gear up, babe. It’ll help get you in the right frame of mind.”

Steve gets this slightly lascivious look on his face and gets up to go the closet. “Well, if I’m doing it, you should too.” And he rustles around till he finds a shirt Danny doesn’t recognize. It’s got a slight western cut to it, and it’s a bright cornflower blue. It’s surprisingly nice, and like all Steve’s clothes, very very soft.

He reluctantly pulls off the Navy tee, tosses it on the bed, and slips on the button up shirt.

Steve’s grin turns almost heated for one moment before sliding into something softer, something almost... misty.

“Yeah, that’s good, you should wear that on Saturday.”

Danny finds he has to work to swallow, then clears his throat with some effort. “We’d better....”

“Yep, let’s get to work,” Steve agrees, and they somewhat awkwardly flee the bedroom for the living room and the TV, where hopefully the kind YouTube instructors will take pity on them and go a bit slower with the really complicated bits.

Maybe the mood clothing helps, or maybe the instructors do take it slower, or maybe they’re just getting better, but whatever the reason, they do manage to mostly get the transition steps down and mostly remembered (Steve sometimes calls out a next move slightly under his breath, and Danny’s not sure if he’s doing it for himself or to remind Danny, but it helps).

By evening, they’re wiped, and end up out on their Jimmy Buffett chairs, beers in hand, bare feet kicked out into the still warm sand, music still playing back on the lanai, and it’s nice. It’s really quite damn nice, Danny thinks, spending a weekend like this. Maybe just because it’s different, maybe because it’s physical but it’s not  _working out_  or  _working_  and maybe that’s too rare a thing and maybe that should change, because it’s just so damn nice.

“We should do this more often,” Steve echoes Danny’s half-thought thoughts.

Danny watches him with a smile. “Yeah?”

He shrugs. “Yeah, I mean, just for us, no one needs to know.... But I think it’s good for us, somehow....” And he almost might regret having said it, the way he fades off. Which maybe is why Danny feels the need to reply the way he does.

“Yeah, just for us.”

And Steve smiles, and drinks his beer.

  
By the time Danny leaves that night, they’re feeling reasonably content that they know what’s going on when it comes to step-twist-turn-slide. They each have chores to do come Sunday, but agree that they should meet at least once during the week just to make sure they don’t lose all their hard won abilities. 

It’s Thursday before they even get a plausible chance, and even that is mostly Danny saying  _I have lots of leftover takeout because I wound up being too tired to eat by the time my food arrived two nights in a row_ , and  _we’re right by my house so let’s take a freaking break and eat actual lunch for once_ , and  _hey we can run through the line dance while we’re at it_ , which turns into  _maybe the kids just take over, they need the experience_  and  _this would go well with that white we found that one time, you know, when we used to go out and eat like civilized human beings_ , which turns into  _let’s practice that two step one more time, a little slower_ , and  _huh, that’s nice, I’ve missed this_ , and isn’t that just something.

Steve sleeps on the couch, them both fading shockingly early in the night, which actually is kind of nice because they’re up bright and early the next morning, and having Steve at his place in the morning has benefits Danny’s not really considered before. Well, aside from the whole having someone put the coffee on (although being forced to eat eggs isn’t really top of his list), but then Steve says “Maybe just one dance before we go,” and they run through the line dance and probably they’re getting a little too proud of themselves, but they’ll tone it down in front of Grace, for sure. 

“Care to do one verse worth of the two step?” Danny almost doesn’t ask, but he’s weak, and Steve’s in his kitchen in bare feet and it’s still early and he knows, just knows, he’ll regret it if he doesn’t, and that smile that lights up Steve’s face... it could fuel Danny through a long day better than coffee, and isn’t that a life-altering thought right there. 

They do the whole song, probably a little slower than they ought, and  _possibly_  they’re not meant to be touching so much of their bodies together. It’s supposed to be hand-on-arm, not whole-arm-all-the-way along, not to mention torsos pressed so closely together.... But it’s nice. Just so damn nice. 

And they even make it into the office early and if anyone notices Steve’s wearing yesterday’s clothes no one says a thing. 

  
Saturday is... Saturday is rough, there’s just no way around it. But Grace is stunning in her jeans and a floral top and an honest to goodness vintage Stetson (courtesy of Stan, of course). She’s even gone and gotten herself real boots, and they’re worn in almost as though she’s been secretly dancing this way all along. 

The way she watches Danny, though. There’s something about it he wishes he could put his finger on but it hovers, all night, just out of reach. But Steve doesn’t. He stays close by Danny all night. And maybe it’s out of some sense of duty, like he’s the one responsible for making sure Danny comes off looking like he knows what he’s doing, and to be honest, Danny’s grateful for that. Because it sure seems as though some of the parents have hired Garth Brooks himself to help them get ready for this event. Danny’s never seen so much fringe and so much rattlesnake and so many sequins in one place since... well, since  _never_ , frankly. He feels blessedly under-dressed in his work slacks and Steve’s almost-western shirt, and actually, that might be part of Grace’s reaction—“Nice shirt Danno,” to which he doesn’t even pause for thought, just replies “Yeah, it’s Steve’s,” and maybe he shouldn’t have? Maybe that means something more than.... Oh, but Danny just can’t be bothered to care about that stuff right now because his baby girl is all grown up and when the fuck did that happen? Did he blink for ten years?

Steve’s not much better off, and they end up consoling each other after their respective dances with Grace, both of which go, thank you very much, quite wonderfully. She’s suitably impressed, which she doesn’t bother hiding, and Danny of course bristles a little at that, but she just laughs easily and says “I knew you’d work it out,” and there again is that odd sense she means something slightly different from what she says, but she brushes it off with a kiss to his cheek and a whispered “Love you Danno,” and yeah, he melts just a little bit, and Steve brings him a cup of punch, and when he grouses that it’s not got booze in it, Steve promises to make it up to him tomorrow. 

  
Danny doesn’t really sleep much that night, he tosses and turns and feels bereft, but of course that makes sense, only he’s not really sure it does.

Until he wakes in the morning and he realizes why. 

When he gets to Steve’s, he hears a by now familiar tune floating dancingly on the air, and he follows it out back, where he finds Steve, wearing nothing but jeans, picking lightly at his guitar, their favorite of the practice songs easily recognizable. 

“Knee deep,” Steve mutters when he sees Danny. “Yeah, I think that about sums it up.” He takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly as he strums. “Knee deep in this thing with you....” He looks up at Danny. 

Danny sucks in a breath. “God, just knee deep? I’m in it up to my hips at least, babe. Sometimes it feels like I’m in totally over my head.”

“I don’t wanna stop dancing with you,” Steve says softly, looking back down so he can pick out the next chord. “Not ever.”

Danny feels the smile start to form, feels his cheek warm, his heart warm, all of him starts to feel like he’s flushed and almost floating. 

“D’you think she knew?”

“That us dancing together would do this?” Steve sets the guitar aside, holds out his hand to Danny. “Probably.”

“Did you?” Because, honestly, he’s wondered about that.

Steve looks utterly honestly at him, openly admits it: “Nope. You?”

“Never woulda guessed it,” Danny says softly, as Steve pulls him onto his lap, holding him close, his heart racing faster than the fastest of the two steps. 

“What do we do now, I wonder?”

“Maybe we should learn a new dance.” And really it’s the only thing he can think of, but somehow, it seems fitting.

“Yeah,” Steve grins. “Maybe we should.”


End file.
